“TANGLED” by Emma Chase
“When my sister was four, my mother had pretty much given up hope of ever having any more kids.
And then guess what? I came along.
Surprise.
I was her miracle baby.
Her precious angel from God.
Her granted wish.
Her answered prayer.
And she wasn’t the only one who thought so. My father was thrilled, just as grateful to have another child–and a son at that.
I was what my family had wanted and waited five years for.
I was the little prince.
I could do not wrong.
There was nothing I wanted that I couldn’t have.
I was the most handsome, the most brilliant.
There was no one kinder, none sweeter than me.
I was loved beyond words–doted on and catered to.
So, if you think I’m arrogant? Selfish? Spoiled? You’re probably right.
But don’t hold it against me. It’s not my fault.
I am a product of how I was raised.”
……………………………………………………………………………………
“Deep down–I’m a momma’s boy.
I’m man enough to admit it.
And trust me, I’m not the only one.
Explains a lot, doesn’t it?
That’s the reason your boyfriend can’t manage to get his socks or underwear actually in the hamper–because he grew up with mommy doing it for him.
That’s why your pasta sauce is good, but not great–because his taste buds have been finely tuned to Mom’s Sunday gravy.”
Kindle, 2015
“When my sister was four, my mother had pretty much given up hope of ever having any more kids.
And then guess what? I came along.
Surprise.
I was her miracle baby.
Her precious angel from God.
Her granted wish.
Her answered prayer.
And she wasn’t the only one who thought so. My father was thrilled, just as grateful to have another child–and a son at that.
I was what my family had wanted and waited five years for.
I was the little prince. I could do not wrong.
There was nothing I wanted that I couldn’t have.
I was the most handsome, the most brilliant. There was no one kinder, none sweeter than me.
I was loved beyond words–doted on and catered to.
So, if you think I’m arrogant? Selfish? Spoiled? You’re probably right.
But don’t hold it against me. It’s not my fault.
I am a product of how I was raised.”
“Deep down–I’m a momma’s boy. I’m man enough to admit it.
And trust me, I’m not the only one. Explains a lot, doesn’t it?
That’s the reason your boyfriend can’t manage to get his socks or underwear actually in the hamper–because he grew up with mommy doing it for him. That’s why your pasta sauce is good, but not great–because his taste buds have been finely tuned to Mom’s Sunday gravy.”
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